Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
He knew Jamie well enough to catch the buried fray of pain repressed in the way that a muscle in Jamie’s cheek ticked, the slightest tremor where the guy’s knee was pressed against his thigh. Seven figured it was a professional thing, keeping the hurt shoved down where it didn’t have any room to breathe or unfurl, but he also had a suspicion that at least part of it was just the way that Jamie was, yeah? Seven knew what that was like, obviously. Compartmentalization wasn’t just for keeping lines crisp, it was also for keeping a straight face when you were bleeding under your jacket and had to wrap up a deal.
So he clocked it, just like he clocked the way that Jamie was watching his face for reaction to the warmth of the guy’s weight sliding into his lap. He wasn’t so hard up for holding onto the control that he cared about holding back. “Oh, I can tell,” he nodded, eyebrows lowered and lips pursed almost thoughtfully as he pretended to look Jamie up and down, taking in the way that he’d made himself very much at home astride Seven’s thighs. And still, the soft edges of a smile played around his mouth. Jamie’s certainty rang hollow to Seven’s ears, but not in a lack of sincerity -- it was pretty obvious that Jamie meant the words, and also that he was doing an excellent job of convincing himself. “It’s a downright noble sacrifice.”
And he let the grin come then, a lazy slice of white teeth as his hands came down to rest against Jamie’s thighs. Seven’s fingers spread wide, ruddy with his leftover tan from the summer, callouses catching against the grain of worn denim as he slid his palms upwards until his nails brushed the seams of Jamie’s front pockets. The grin hitched up higher as Jamie looked at him like he’d started speaking in a foreign language. “You sure? I’m pretty good at braids now.”
He left the age thing alone, because there was no way in hell he even wanted to think about going down that road. Instead he let his hands curl around the guy’s hips at last, thumbs brushing under the hem of Jamie’s shirt before tucking into belt loops on either side. “Sleepovers,” he confirmed, and the grin eased into something a little more smug because instead of a full hand carefully laid out in array, his was just a single card on its own. His chin tipped up a little, face turning more into the fall of Jamie’s gaze. “Not every time. Just on the table. Because friends don’t let friends feel like a turned trick. Since there’s no danger, yeah?”
The eyebrow came back up, and Seven waited, languid smile on his lips.